Reflections

As I sit and look at the blank page before me, I realize that I'm looking into a mirror. The blank space has no purpose until I give it one. And . . . if I decide . . . I can take that purpose away with the push of a button; just as my purpose has been taken away from me. I find it hard to focus, and I gaze out my window.

On any given evening, I can look out the window that is in the room I am in. I see the road that is just past the ditch at the end of my yard. On the other side of this road, I see a fence that is made up of small logs; just enough to keep in the cattle that are on the other side of it. There are fields that can be seen when I look beyond the livestock. And . . . at the end of those fields . . . the horizon. The sunsets that I see from my window are shaded in hues of red, orange, gold, blue and violet. More often than not, one or two beams of brightness cross the boundaries of these shades, and proclaim that the sun may have to go down, but it's not going to go without a fight. I wish I had some fight left in me.

The sun goes slowly over the edge of the world. It goes . . . goes . . . goes . . .and is gone. I am left in the dark. Alone. Hollow. Empty. Useless.

There is a man in the other room. He is sleeping. He claims to love me. He says he wants to make me feel that love. He says he needs me. But . . . how can he when he doesn't even understand me?

My children are gone by my choice. They were getting out of control. Their chemical imbalances, their rebellious actions, their constantly running away and/or being arrested. I looked for help. I got it; from the state; when I was least expecting it. And . . . not the kind of help I was looking for. But . . . the help said my children would be better off without me; that they could give them what they needed (better) if I weren't involved. I love my children. They were my life. They were my reason. They were my purpose. They are, now, gone.

Although they were both within a couple years of adulthood, and they knew the things they were doing were wrong, I feel so much guilt over stepping away. I know it was what was best for them. I know they're doing much better. They call me every once in awhile. But . . . it still hurts every waking minute of every day. (He says that I cry in my sleep.) I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror.

There . . . the page is no longer empty. The words may have come out slowly, but they did come out, and here they are. I have given new life to the reflection of my heart. Now . . . if only I could echo that within myself. It has been almost a year. Yet, I still cannot.

Sleep is elusive. Peace is a farce. Beauty is nullified. My heart is in shreds. My life is empty. My image is permanently marred. My babies are gone.